


Starlight

by FantasylandwithZee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 17:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18815809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasylandwithZee/pseuds/FantasylandwithZee
Summary: Nobody knew who he was......until Zayn.





	Starlight

It was a little like chasing the sky, a little like floating as you drowned, maybe something like catching a sigh in a jar. It was something like that when Harry had taken his first steps into Zayn's space, crowded his breaths and then let his fingers slip out of Zayn's grasp before the latter even had time to blink. It was still earlier than dusk and Harry had already stolen all of Zayn's heartbeats, just like that, in one oblivious touch across his arm. Zayn didn't understand how a little flutter of Harry's fingertips on his skin, suddenly made the light in the room brighter, made the walls glow and his spine to tingle in euphoria.

He was sad that day, he remembered being in a nasty mood and getting in an argument with Lexi over the lack of clients, and then Harry came in through the door looking like an angel with those luscious lips and a light mauves-crimson tint on his cheeks, like some fairy had blew out magic dust onto his face and it had left remnants behind. His boots sparkled-Zayn remembered that vividly- under the soft-core light show of the dingy club, where all troubled teenagers came to work, and all the rich, confused guys came for clarity. Men, women, girls with pink nail polish and lavish accessories and boys with combat boots (much like Zayn's) that acted cool under the lights but as soon as they were behind a door, cried a million shades of red and blue and it was almost paradoxical how they couldn't shower those colours on the dance floor that reverberated with those same hues. But Harry was different. He came in with sparkly, golden shoes and beguiling fingers that traced the spines of many and left them gasping. Harry came in like a champion with dazzling rings, an idol of some sort that Zayn knew many could happily die for.

Even in that very moment, if asked to, Zayn would have held Harry's hands and kissed his knuckles and each fingertip, he would have kneeled down right there in front of everyone to see, or he would have let the feel of Harry's long curls skim over his neck where he was the most sensitive because Harry Styles was just _that_ endearing. It almost made Zayn feel a little jealous because all his life, he had been told that he was the most beautiful creature that had ever been born, and though he never took it seriously, it still made him ecstatic and a little more confident about his worth. But now...now Harry Styles had come to ruin that little bit of self-prestige Zayn had, because the raven-haired man could swear he had never seen someone so breathtaking, someone that made him want to touch them all over just to make sure this wasn't a reverie of some sort, someone that made him feel a million emotions just by being there, even when so far out of Zayn's reach.

Zayn remembered, the night was lazy and the stars weren't out and the moon kept hiding behind the clouds. He remembered that when he opened the doors to the balcony, the soft breeze had left him feeling mesmerised and hopeless at the same time, and Zayn also remembered that he was absolutely consumed by a man he didn't know, had never seen, had never talked to, had never even been anywhere near. Before that day, Zayn had never believed in love at first sight, and he had never believed that you actually _fell_ in love and kept falling and falling and though the bottomless ground frightened you so much, you curled your toes during summer days and threw the blanket away in winter nights, it was still a hopeful submission into oblivion because it meant you would never touch the ground, never plummet full speed into the cement, you wouldn't break and shatter into a million pieces that would stick at the corners of dirty hotel rooms, impossible to clean out. It meant all that and it meant that you could see that _falling_ as exactly what the word meant or you could believe, it was in fact, a breath-taking flight into a starlit sky.

The balcony wasn't bare despite the gloomy neighbourhood it looked down on, or the yellowing walls that were helpless in their lack of romanticism. There were butterfly-shaped lights weaved on the railings, with interwoven white lilies whose petals were of sumptuous silk and whose leaves were as green as the beacon of hope in the dreariest of days. Zayn couldn't help then, from feeling the velvet petals on the pad of his thumb, to delicately stroke the squeaky surface of the leaves. He couldn't help but make stars out of the lights, watch the place get a little bit darker when he rested his fingers upon one of the butterflies and then brighter again when he lifted his fingers off of it. It was fascinating, somehow it meant he could touch the stars and have power over what and when he wanted something clear and when he didn't.

Harry came right that moment, when Zayn let out a longing breath, missing something that never happened, lost in the memories of times he wished he had lived. And he came with all that clumsiness, buttons undone for the ink to be on display for Zayn's greedy eyes and looking so much like that _one_ star he could never stretch his fingers to. A mischievous _oops_ had left his mouth when their gazes connected and a million star fusions burst inside Zayn's drumming heart. He kept coming closer and Zayn kept watching, hypnotised to the rhythm of his slurs and the dance of his body as he got so near Zayn, the latter swore he couldn't breathe. He watched Harry attentively, eyes craving to pick up on every detail of his movements, every feature of his beautifully-sculpted body because he knew this wouldn't happen again. Zayn knew Harry Styles was a rare charmer and rare charmers had to be cherished as long as possible before they flew so far away from you, you could drown in the scorching heat of this quest. He was one to leave you panting, one to love you so hard and so deep you felt like you couldn't live another second without a touch. The followers were descendants of icarus, trying to reach for something that at first gave you warmth then let you burn in the flames.

Zayn knew all the consequences and yet, he let Harry stand near him and rest his elbows on the railing as he smiled at him, he let Harry go on and on about someone Zayn didn't care to know about. Zayn let Harry in, despite knowing that the libidinous flames had already lapped at his fingertips and were slowly, ravenously crawling up the rest of his body and under his skin. Zayn accepted the flames like they were those soft lilies among the stars, knowing that he was already trapped in this crude dream with Harry's fingers lightly grazing his wrist. "It's beautiful out here isn't it?" Harry asked and his voice made Zayn want to delve his tongue deeper into the heat of his, wanted to leave a little star of his own in the hot softness of Harry's mouth. He was okay being just one star between the thousand all scattered around Harry, sometimes he even wondered if Harry knew that people craved his attention like they craved for a wish to come true, but then Zayn would always shake his head as he watched Harry from afar working his magic so skilfully. Harry must know about what he does to them. He must know that they worship him, are always ready to lick his desires from off his chest.

Zayn never answered that question, feeling too tongue-tied to even begin to describe what beauty really meant to him. He tried to get away, just so he didn't lie in bed at six in the morning feeling the cold and the regret and hunger seep into his bones like a tempting snake. He turned his back to Harry but he stood there for God knows how long, clenching and unclenching his fists in an attempt to break the chains around his ankles and his heart, but nothing worked. Zayn knew nothing would work from here on.

He inhaled sharply when the first firm touch of Harry's set his waist aflame, the tingles of lascivious ardor travelling down his spine, through the veins to his very toes. He was sort of paralysed there in Harry's hold, that Zayn knew was nothing but lust and the kind of devotion that wasn't exactly worship as much as it was a blasphemy. Harry must have been eyeing Zayn for a quite a while, he must have been studying Zayn and his needs and as soon as he found the raven-haired man at his most vulnerable, he caught him with a grip that was tantalisingly welcome by the latter. Harry's hand was soft, too soft drawing hearts on Zayn's rippling stomach under his shirt and his other hand slid down Zayn's arm like lava, held onto Zayn's own hand and it fit so damn well, Zayn wanted to cry. Harry's breaths were evaporated on Zayn's burning skin and they swayed tenderly under the sea-like sky, with Harry's arms making Zayn succumb to the temporary serenity he felt there, mind utterly compelled by the curly man's queer familiarity. His eyes were glazed over and he could hear nothing but Harry's soft pants and feel nothing other than their bodies touching.

Zayn turned around so that he could have a clearer look at Harry's eyes and damn...all the descriptions he had heard from other people, all the metaphors and similes and stutters suddenly left his mouth like they were afraid they wouldn't be enough to illustrate just how exquisite his eyes were. The longer Zayn looked, the more he felt himself giving in, the more he sunk into the flames like inferno had just swept over his entire existence. Harry could have been sucking Zayn's soul out of his body and Zayn wouldn't even protest. He fell compliant to Harry's touches, gasping and rushing to his toes as if reaching for something so high up when Harry's lips merely brushed over his. His hands grasped the safety of Harry's fabric, body moving impossibly closer for a little more. A little more.

His heart was so loud in his chest that he felt like he couldn't hear anything except the loud beats of a name he couldn't quite decipher. His whole body was trembling, fingers hungry for more and more and more, and when Harry did give him that flaming buss that made Zayn go crazy, the raven-haired man felt like he would melt into his touch and never come out alive. He wouldn't mind such death.

Harry's tongue touched Zayn in ways the latter had never experienced, from the little buzz in his bones to the all-consuming tingle rushing up his legs, to the slow throbbing between them, everything was a swirl of continous sensations that spiralled out of Zayn's control. He couldn't grasp anything to clear away the fog in his brain, couldn't tame down his wild heart.

Harry pushed him against the window-door, held Zayn bruisingly by his waist, made Zayn taste the temptation in his mouth. He let Zayn search every corner of his mouth for anything that could satisfy his hunger, all the stars that Zayn had always wanted to taste, right there at the tip of his tongue. And Zayn relished in it, nails digging deeper into Harry's soft skin, moaning when he found his thirst being rewarded with such abundance. "What's your name? What's your name? Tell me your name. Fuck...I need to know. Please." He begged, for a word that he could keep repeating and repeating, anything that could act as a mantra for his draining soul. Somewhere along the cold grip of Harry's on his waist, and the heart-wrenching desire for more, Zayn forgot completely about the tomorrow. He had lost all sense of knowledge or proper thought, and his body only screamed for more pleasure, more pain. He wanted Harry to leave marks that could last days and he wanted to live off of those for the rest of his life. He wanted Harry to leave so many lasting marks km his body, that he didn't have to crave Harry day after dat, that these marks alone could satiate his hunger after Harry left.

The curly man didn't hold back. He lead Zayn inside that cheap room where the yellowing walls told stories of nothing but repentance and devil horns. He pushed him down onto the bed, tore his clothes off his body and Zayn remembered how Harry had dug his nails into Zayn's chest, so hard that the skin peeled off and it started bleeding. Zayn was never a masochist, he hated pain in any form, but he remembered that, that day in that room with Harry sat on top of him, holding his arms above his head with one hand, he let Harry hurt him till the blood pooled around his stomach like a cruel masterpiece. Zayn remembered Harry fucking into him so hard Zayn couldn't't help the screams, and at some point he didn't know if he was sinking into the mattress, or arching off the bed to meet Harry halfway. His mind was filled with static noise and all his rationality felt like it had been scratched off him.

Harry kissed him again and again, on the mouth and his jaw, bit at his cheeks and his lips, nipped the tender flesh behind his ear and down his neck, sucked at his sweet spot and at the inward curve of his elbows. He didn't leave _one_ place unattended, let Zayn flush red under him, let him squirm and cum just from that. And then he hovered over him as Zayn caught his breath, throat scratchy and mind blank. Harry watched the raven beauty shifting his dazed gaze on Harry, he watched Zayn smiling softly and oh so innocently, and he gave that lingering twinkle in Zayn's eyes time to gain back its shine before he kissed him again.

So lazy, so salacious and _red_ that it made Zayn lose all control. He whimpered, moaned and kept asking for a name but all he got was Harry leaning away, detaching himself from Zayn. The raven-haired man held onto his shoulders, sat up too as he looked fearfully into Harry's eyes. "Don't leave me yet. At least stay till sunrise." He pleaded and Harry chuckled, pushed him back down. Zayn's body bounced a little, like a badly thrown ball across the field, like a careless inanimate object that can be discarded whenever the need ended. But Harry peeled his own clothes off, erotically and teasingly slow for Zayn to enjoy the trailer before the movie even started.

Zayn recalled exactly what Harry had done that night, the intense teasing and the fucking till the sun rose and the kisses that painted Zayn's lips in a deep shade of maroon, and the nips and bites all over that stayed for days before starting to fade. He recalled waking up in the morning and still wanting more; his tongue constantly licking the cracks of his lips and the slight cuts at the corner, his hand playing with his d!ck in that lazy manner because he had no energy left. He remembered the little glimpse of light through the curtains, the smugded droplets of blood on his thighs and his chest, remembers the ceiling being more than just white and his hunger growing and growing so fast and hard. He had thrashed the room, clawed at the pillows and watched the mirror fall apart, indents on the door and ripped curtains. He had sobbed and screamed for Harry till his voice gave out, pushed Louis away when he came to help. He was just hoping, just hoping that Harry would stay and love him again. He was waiting all day and all night for Harry, right there in that club room, ignoring Lexi's threats and anyone's help.He didn't eat or drink anything. Zayn remembered that and it wasn't because he wasn't hungry, for some reason he thought Harry would come and they would eat together. It wasn't a pointless hope, Zayn had a reason. Never in these years, when Harry had charmed his way into so many people's lives, never had anyone gotten to know his name. But that morning after Zayn woke up and broke half the furniture, Zayn dreamed- he believed it was a mere flashback- that the man with curly hair and virescent eyes had whispered into Zayn's ear, in that fulfilling moment when they released together, he had whispered _Harry_ again and again, as many times as Zayn had asked him. It wasn't a pointless hope.

All those days after, the hunger still grew and Zayn stuffed his mouth with anything and anyone he got. And still after every attempt, the only name he could say in the dead of the night was _Harry._ After every man and woman, after every cuddle and kiss, when the night was still young but dark like a serpent, when the stars were tempting and Zayn tried with shaky eyes to draw the man again with the dots on the ceiling, he tried to bring Harry's voice back to life and hear him saying _Harry,_ again and again. _Harry, Harry, Harry..._ It wasn't much but it was enough to satiate his starving soul. And sometimes he wore Harry's shirt. It wasn't a pointless hope goddammit! Harry had worn Zayn's shirt when he walked out that door that night, and left a piece of himself for Zayn to take. Never in these years had he heard from other people that Harry had left them anything at all. That must have meant something and no matter how many times Louis told him it was all bullshit and that Harry was never coming back, Zayn still dug the earth at night and buried all his draining beliefs there. He wanted to have a strong faith, not moments of weakness when all he wanted to do was bury himself too.

One day, on a beautiful day when the sky looked like velvet petals from a sea flower, and the clouds were just a cotton dream, a man with rough waves on his head and a gentle smile on his lips, came up to Zayn in the break of dawn, knocking on the door of that same room and walked in in that same way Harry had done. Stumbling, tripping from the broken lamp at the foot of the door and a giggly _oops_ leaving his mouth. Zayn was shocked and his heartbeats picked up speed, and he stopped scratching at the skin around his nails. That man didn't look anything like Harry but he was there, with that same clumsy, bold attitude and Zayn couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or not. "I thought no one was here." The man said and Zayn gulped down a lump in his throat, wanting to tell him to just get the fuck out, because he was messing with Zayn's feelings and that wasn't cool. The man walked out into the balcony and rested his elbows on the railing just like Harry had done, only this time it was a loyal morning instead of that cunning night. The new curtains danced to the breeze and kept playing a game of hide and seek with Zayn. Sometimes he could see the man clearly and sometimes he got hidden behind the ruby veil. "It's a beautiful day today, isn't it?"

_It's_ _beautiful out here_ _isn't_ _it_ _?_

Zayn thought he was hallucinating. That was the only reasonable explanation of what was happening, and he wholeheartedly wanted to believe it was just that. His insomnia was getting the best of him. That was it. He sat back on the bed and kept looking at the man, hoping he would just disappear like all his dreams did, and for some moments Zayn thought he did. But then he returned and it drove Zayn mad. He took a deep breath and finally decided to say something, even though his hands were shaking and his legs bounced up and down involuntarily. "W-What's your name?" He watched as the man looked at him from his shoulder, could see the slight curl of his lips in a smile. "I thought you didn't speak or something." There was a pause, a long heavy and cold pause that made Zayn shiver. "It's Damien. You're Zayn, right?" Zayn's throat went dry, hands clammy as he fisted the sheets in his hands. Harry didn't know Zayn's name. He never asked him. In fact, not many people knew Zayn's name, it was like that kind of secret that you never told anyone but no one cared enough to know it either. The kind of trivial secret that could slip beneath the door, or crawl from the under the carpets and nobody would notice, nobody would even give a damn about it. So when this man outside on the balcony, acting just like Harry had done once upon a time, said his name, it felt like Harry _himself_ had said it. The accent pulsed in his bloodstream like a dead heartbeat or a killer virus, something dangling on the edge of fearful suspicion. Was he a stalker of some sort?

"W-Who are you?" Zayn wasn't terrified...and that in itself was terrifying. He should have been scared. Someone Zayn had never seen before knew his real identity and Zayn wasn't even scared. There must have been something wrong with him. He hadn't gone down to the dance floor to do any dirty work again, so there was no chance of him ever telling anyone his name, even in his drunk state. He had been too intoxicated with Harry's touch to care about anything else, and maybe he was still intoxicated because all he could see in that man was Harry. His traits, his words, his confidence. Everything was screaming _Harry._ The man finally turned around and walked back inside the room, gazing at Zayn for so long that the latter began feeling a little nervous, sweat breaking down on his forehead. And then he walked right in front of Zayn, crowded his space as if he owned it. He bended down to Zayn, nibbled on his ear and Zayn fisted the sheets a little tighter, breath hitching at the contact. So much like Harry...He didn't have the energy to stop the man, solely on the reason that he felt so much like that curly lad that had left him alone and miserable all those nights ago. Damien rested his palms on the bed on each side of Zayn, pressing himself forward and lips sliding down to Zayn's neck. It felt like he was in some way trying to consume Zayn, catching him in a rainbow bubble to set him free even when trapped in its suffocating cage.

Maybe he was too easy. Maybe Zayn was just too easy to use and discard, so anyone could come in and nibble on his ear like Damien did, and before that Harry, and so many other men and women, and he would surrender. Maybe that was exactly why he ended up in that trash job, and even now that Lexi had fired him men still found his way to Zayn. Maybe he was just too easy, but he couldn't help it. Not now especially. Specially when Harry had left his body like that, all needy and hungry and ruined. He craved a touch at this point. Any. Just any touch that could temporarily unfold him and soften his edges, and hold him like he meant the world to them. And if he let Damien do that for tonight, nobody had to know. If he let Damien kiss him gently, and cool the burn on his thighs, nobody had to know. If he let Damien touch him in ways only Harry done that night, if he begged for more and more until all he had on his mouth was the taste of Damien, if he let Damien go slow and delicate instead of rough and bloody, if he stared at Damien sleeping and if he stayed awake watching him just in fear that he would leave too, nobody, absolutely nobody had to know that he was already beyond insane.

When the moon came up that day, back to the deceit and the sight of naked truths, Zayn was awoken by Damien's playful fingers between his legs. He inhaled and exhaled heavily, refusing to open his eyes in case the _Harry_ dream would break again. He was sick, twisted and it was his own fault, for letting someone like Harry work his magic on him. If only he hadn't let Harry in, if he had resisted. But he guessed, that was what temptation was all about. Temptation hadn't let Adam and Eve flee from its grasp, let alone an ordinary man like Zayn. When Damien fucked him again under a full moon, Zayn blamed it all on the devil inside him and took it like he was made for this: to be used. And when he woke up at the first break of dawn, the circle started again. Hiding under the bed, curled up like a foetus, calling for his ma and crying his heart out because he, too, had left. Nobody had told him what pain was, nobody had taught him how to grow between thorns, or how to rise above everyone else. Nobody had told him what to do if he never came back, how to stamp down his hope when all he received was disappointment. He was thirsty but he couldn't get out of his hiding, and there was no one to hold his hand and get him out. So he layed there, for one, two, three days until his needy, hungry and ruined body finally gave out.

The time was a blur, and between waking and sleeping he saw flashes of sage green eyes. He saw them and he ignored and kept on wishing he could die. His body ached so much because of all the starving and all of the dirt people poured into him, the rain and the thunder that electrified him, the fire that Harry had awoken on him, the flames that kept scarring him everywhere they touched. The terror that when he woke up he still wouldn't find anyone wanting him, wouldn't find Harry there holding his hand, wouldn't be told that it was Harry that had found him from under the bed and cherished him in his heart, that he wasn't anything special and that Harry leaving his shirt behind and telling Zayn his name was something he did with everyone...that knowledge was worse than death. Living facing the horror of that bare truth was much more tantalizing than anything else. So with every breath, he would kick a heartbeat out. All his heartbeats.

"Wake up." He recognized that whisper and gasped as if he was drowning, but suddenly remembered how to swim. He was gasping, flailing his arms to touch the surface even when his brain refused to believe it was real. "Wake up baby." He was trying to, thrashing his legs because that voice was a magnet. He was so drawn to it but there were chains around his ankles. _Unchain me, unchain_ _me_ _, let me go!_ "Zayn darling..." He kept pulling his feet, fingertips rushing above the water but still not there. His heartbeats were going crazy, breaths erratic. "You need to wake up. We can live in that night forever. We can turn all the days into beautiful summer nights. Wake up." Tears sprang to his eyes. Zayn was crying again but this time in pure hope and belief. This time he wanted to wake up and continue believing. He wouldn't stop until he could feel his palms scorching with Harry's hand. He wouldn't stop loving strangers in the name of Harry, no matter what it meant for them. _Unchain me!_ "Harry, Harry, Harry...my name's Harry." And the voice repeated the name as many times as Zayn had asked him that night. The chains broke at last, the water rippled in waves as Zayn's hand made its way above, his body surging with a different energy. " _Harreh_..." Zayn gasped out.

Zayn crawled between Harry's legs, held his shoulders and kissed him hard. He wanted to say _hurt me again,_ like that night, that starlit night. Instead, he leaned into Harry's hands on his cheek, tangled his own hands into Harry's growing curls. Their lips wet and obssessed, hooked onto each other like two prayers, tongues marking flesh in that way that didn't let either of them leave again. "I'm sorry." He said and Zayn shook his head, kissed his neck because now he could and take his time.

Apologies could be saved for never, romance had to be fit in infinity and that took time so they needed to make use of it. Apologies could be wasted on oblivion rides, love had to be carved into woods and that took energy, so they needed to make use of their youth. This young night could suck their juices out of them, so they needed to drink in each other for as long as they could. They had to make use of it. Nothing came from free, scars and knuckle holes were what cost for a piece of moon. They had to make use of what they got.

Zayn ended up underneath Harry as a secret that everybody knew, on a bed that felt too much like a cotton dream, the kind like clouds on a velvet sky. He touched Harry's body like paradise was on his fingertips, and tasted his love like the dangerous kind of ride, one from which trauma wasn't far behind, but it felt so good, so so brilliant and like a haunting night. Zayn couldn't stop, touching him, kissing him beyond drugs wrapped in a journal or illusions folded in dirty corners. Everything burst in front of his eyes, like starlight and scintillating oceans. And Zayn was high on these aesthetics, feeling them all at the tip of his tongue. Inhaling, injecting, tasting them like drugs in the form of a young man hovering over him.

Whether that was lust or Harry's quest for true love, it didn't matter. He was alive with a man who no one knew other than him. Harry was his secret possession now, and the rest of the world could go to hell.


End file.
